A Skaven Story
A story created by A & LP A: There once was a hole in the ground. It was indeed a muddy and disgusting hole, littered with bones and trash, for this was no ordinary hole. It was simply said: a skaven hole. In it lived a skaven. A creature almost like a small hunchback human, its face twisted and ugly, with a huge rat-like snout. On its head it would usually wear a piece of cloth to hide the bald spots, it had always been mocked for. Around its body it wore the remains of a human shirt, torn and black from the filth and dirt. The little ratman rose from the pile of trash and leftovers that had been his sleeping place, stretching and in the flick of an eye drawing a knife to turn upon the moving shadows. "I know you creep-sneak, you scuttle-sneaker!" As the shadows did not respond to the skaven's morning routine of threats and random stabs in the air, the skaven put the knife in his single boot and crawled out his hole. Outside the noise from a thousand slaves working and another thousand dying reached the skaven's ears and he felt happy. He was yet a free skaven, with his own name and his own hole, even if it was only a tiny hole. As he sniffed and looked around a nearby train of slaves from the world above moved by, a series of humans and dwarfs bound together by chains. The skaven leading the new slaves, a big black one, turned and sniffed when he caught the smell of our little skaven. "Halt-stop!" he cried pointing his prodder at the little unarmed skaven. "Prowling in the dark, preying on my slaves are you? Show yourself or I will gut-slice you!". The little skaven knew better than to step into the light, but also better than not responding to those with greater authority. LP: So he took the only logical way out, and tip-sneaked quietly away without a sound. Behind him he heard the slave-driver shout more and the sound of a little sword sticking the shadows where he stood. This made our little skaven very uncomfortable, for it reminded him of the shadows of his home, that had been so lively this morning. He resolved to stab them a few more times the next morning in case he'd missed something today. He sneaked by the old skaven that had given him a scar on his snout when he was younger. The old skaven was standing in his own little yard, slice-cutting a disobedient slave, with his back to a bowl of greenish food that looked edible, so our little skaven sneak-grabbed the bowl and went happily on his way, eating it ravenously. A: The bowl emptied fast, and the skaven put it down. But then he hesitated. As if something had struck him he got a great idea. Slowly he raised the bowl and turned it. It was a bit too tiny to fit over his head, but with a little pressure from his great muscles he pressed it down and it cracked a little. And then as if the Horned Rat had overseen his mighty feat of strength the bowl fitted his head perfectly like a helmet. Satified with his new gear he trotted onward, past the clanrat dens and the Grey Tower. He had never dared enter the Grey Tower. So dangerous it looked and inside the prophets of the Horned Rat schemed and did other things. Our little skaven shivered. That was not a nice thought, and the little skaven pressed his musk glands together, so that the musk of fear could not escape him. Turning from the tower and running onward he almost passed the Storm Vermin barracks. Suddenly the skaven felt his nose twitch and move. As if drawn, it turned towards the barracks. With both claws he tried to stop it, but the scarred nose had a will of its own and soon it infected his hands. He could only squee as it pulled him into the barracks of the great warrior vermin. LP: Shuffling and doubting his every step, he drew closer to the barracks. The imposing stairs looming taller and taller as he tip-toed his way towards where he should not be. The yard stank of dead rats, the bodies of slave and clansrat alike. Anyone who as much as looked wrong at one of the mighty-stinky warriors ended up on the pile. He was already at the door and stared at it in disbelief for a moment before turning the knob. It was open. His scarred nose tried to smell out danger, but the smell of death overwhelmed everything. He stuck his head inside and looked left. An empty corridor. He looked right. A corridor with many doors. He stepped in, and as he stepped in the door closed behind him. I thought i smelled a sneak-squeek a deep-ish voice said. It was undoubtably a warrior. A new smell overpowered everything else, a musk that our little skaven had smelt many times in the past. He could hear the lips of the rat behind him parting, it was a disgusting, wet sound. Ohh, the musk is seeping out of you sneak-squeek the warrior said. Have you not come to seek acceptance into our ranks? The rat laughed and raised his voice Hey rats! a sneak-squeek has come to join us. He want's to battle bigga-smash. The musk of fear now penetrated the entire corridor. Go on now, Sneak-squeek said the rat-warrior behind our little skaven, as he was nudged forward down the bare corridor. He could hear doors opening and warriors skipping to get a better look at the spectacle. Uhh, a competitor for bigga-smash they murmured. He smells of fear, he will not last long they whispered. And before our little skaven knew it, he was plunged into something alike to an arena. He looked up at some heavy-set gates just as the iron bars pulled aside. The Warriors cheered. A: Before the crowd and our little skaven stood an enormous storm vermin. The storm vermin was almost the size of two, his broad shoulders and massive arms scratching the ground when he turned. His claws looked like meat-cleavers and our little skaven saw the bloodlust in his eyes. As his glands tightened and squeezed out the rest, the big thing lifted foot, slowly putting one in front of the other. The little skaven could hardly move out of fear and it was only when the almost-rat ogre storm vermin snatched for him that the skaven instinct crept in and he leapt back out of range. For a little while the bigger skaven chased the small, but soon the small could run no more and a blow glanced his back, sending him sprawling accross a pile of corpses. As the big vermin moved closer with a satifying howl, a shout from above froze all from the little skaven to the big, and the entire crowd. A large angry looking storm vermin captain with rings in his ear and plenty wounds over his face moved down among the spectators, shouting orders "Go-scurry up! War has come, and-elf things gather-land on the coast. Speed up or I'll have your head fed to the slaves we take today!". As the captain noticed the little skaven in the pit he yelled "And you! Get in your armour and stop fool-dying around". And so our little skaven donned armour much too big, squeeked as his wounds hurt and hurried along the much bigger ones. They were going to the surface.